Love Conquers All
by Echoing Bronze
Summary: J/D Set during 'Intersections in Real Time.' Sheridan's thoughts.


Love Conquers All

by the B5maniac  
alaka@breathemail.net

  
I wrote this story at about 2 in the morning. I am most inspired at night and I find that a whole range of ideas flood through my head. Unfortunately though sometimes I can write things I wouldn't otherwise write, as I seem to write one line, then another, and forget whatever I have just written! Anyway, this story is set during the season 4 episode "Intersections in Real Time". Yep, it's a "Sheridan in cell" story, with a few of his thoughts thrown in for good measure *G*. I could have been VERY mean, but I think my subconscious prevented from ever being *too* intentionally harmful to our Johnny. :-)   
  
Possible spoilers up to "Intersections in Real Time"?? I'm no good at identifying spoilers. Oh what the Hell, just let's get onto the story shall we?  
*G*  
  
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to JMS and Warner Bros, NOT me - I'm just being a cheapskate and nicking 'em for a while cos I can't think of any good ones meself. *BG*  
  
*******  
  
  
In all his life, John Sheridan's personal universe had always consisted of many things; his family, his home, the farm, the sound of rain on the roof and the scent of orange blossoms in the sweet, summer air, the smell of freshly cut grass, Babylon 5, love and loss, war and the prospect of peace...but right now, the very core of his universe centred around only one thing: intense, dizzying, blinding pain.  
  
The bright light emanating from the ceiling hurt his tired eyes, serving as a contrast with the darkness of the rest of his confined imprisonment. He wanted to put his hands to his head, to ease the throbbing pain by massaging his temples. 'Hell, bashing would probably be more useful than massaging,' he thought. He tried all the same, but his wrists once again met with the resistance of cold, relentless metal.   
  
He threw his head back in the chair, cursing under his breath at the intimidating blackness. His mouth was unbearably dry, and strange images of glasses filled to the brim with iced water flooded through his mind. He licked his lips instinctively but was met with the iron-tinged taste of his own blood, however he had gone far beyond the point of caring - it was some form of moisture at least.   
  
Muscles tensed as pangs of knife-like hunger pains jolted across his stomach and he groaned in protest, coughing from his previous intake of blood. His few broken ribs ached from the effort, and all the pain from his whole body intensified in one single instant, threatening to overwhelm him with unconsciousness again. But he knew that he had to stay alert. The last time he made the mistake of falling asleep, hoping to somehow avoid facing the pain of his extensive injuries, the guards, who had come to "check up on him", enjoyed taking advantage of the fact and played football with his curled up body. He could feel the bruises begin to blacken underneath his shirt, and the knees of his trousers dampen with blood from some particularly nasty wounds. He wondered if he would be able to walk if he was released from the shackles holding his ankles in place and thought, 'Probably not'.  
  
He was so hungry.  
  
  
Familiar words, friendly words flitted through his mind:  
  
"That's the only way you deal with pain, you don't surrender, you don't fight it, you turn it around into something positive..."  
  
"...I will see you again in the place where no Shadows fall."  
  
"Step into the abyss, and let go..."  
  
"...sleep now."  
  
"Surrender yourself to death..."  
  
He had surrendered himself to death once already and he had no intentions of doing so again. He pondered over his father's words. "How the Hell can I turn any of this into something positive?!" he said aloud. 'Take up an unhealthy interest in sado-machonism? Yeah, then perhaps I could get some joy out of these sessions!' he thought cynically to himself. He laughed humourlessly - he was beginning to sound like Ivanova!  
  
Ivanova. Her image appeared - the last he'd seen of her had been a face filled with concern, worry and downright frustration. 'Dammit,' he thought. He knew she was always right, he just didn't want to admit it. She was his friend, perhaps the last of any friend he would ever see, he was sure not to find any in this place.  
  
Lorien's words echoed out to him, "Do you have anything worth living for?" And he remembered his answer, "Delenn!" Her voice reached out and wrapped itself around him, "I will watch, and catch you if you should fall." 'I think I've fallen a little too far this time, Delenn,' he thought sadly. But her image in his mind, her figure of grace, her face of beauty and strength, her words of love - they all fuelled his spirit with a fire unmatchable to any other. The only reason he was still here now was because of his reason, to be here, his reason for living. He was not going to give up, not now, not ever. His reason still existed. The distance between them didn't matter, because as he knew only too well, love could not be confined to any borders, and love conquered all. He saw how words once used only for Anna had transformed into a different age, and a slight sadness passed over him.  
  
He clenched his fists and sat straighter in his chair, feeling a little more revitalised, and he thought of Delenn and Babylon 5. He thought perhaps he should spend his free "alone-time" planning the wedding, this was as good a time as any! The pain seemed to subside briefly and he relaxed his muscles.  
  
Just then, there was a loud, distinct clanking noise as the bulky iron door of his cell grinded open. Bright, unnatural light washed through the doorway, and the same familiar figure of his interrogator walked briskly in. His glasses were propped on the end of his nose, and as always he looked all the man of business. "Good morning," he said indifferently, not really caring whether it was morning, afternoon, evening, or the end of the world.  
  
Sheridan didn't hear him though, he was far too wrapped up in matters of his own. 'Love conquers all,' he thought, and smiled.  
  
  
********  
  
  
"The first obligation of a prisoner is to escape." - John Sheridan, "Whatever Happened to Mr. Garibaldi?"


End file.
